


Gossamer

by ScissorSheep



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (Like literally right before the fall), After the Fall, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Analysis, Graphic Description of Corpses, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hannibal is Hannibal, Heavy Angst, Heavy Petting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Season/Series 03, Psychological Trauma, Sex and Gore, aftermath of the Fall, dark!Will, graphic gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScissorSheep/pseuds/ScissorSheep
Summary: "Hannibal knew the squishy inner folds of Will’s empathetic mind, knew the best way to simply bring forth such hidden fantasies, and now with the Red Dragon slain, their rebirth was inevitable. Will had become the finest gossamer to be stitched into their inevitable reign, to bequeath the land in an ocean of thick pulsing blood. An incipient, inevitable beleaguer to their insipid rebirth.Hannibal’s arms cradle his eromenos closer, cupping the newly kindled teacup over the precipice of a new beginning. To drop or not?Will wants nothing more than to guard Patroclus, aid him in his inevitable downfall, bed with him, thrust against his red velvet caked skin, huddle against the musk that leaks from the utmost core of his erastes. Just as Achilles prayed against the midnight cloak of night, reverently declaring such a conscientious duty to drink from the dulcet elixir of Patroclus’ calling, Will would navigate through the labyrinthine apocrypha as the harbinger of their mellifluous rebirth. He was but one piece of their ever entwined destiny, the moiety of the other’s existence."





	Gossamer

**Author's Note:**

> So this was the product of my mind's insistent need to write a continuation in a manner I saw most fitting for these two. In my mind the two don't just move on and stop trying to kill each other, they rather find solace and power in their constant power fluctuation. I have no intention of this being more than 2 chapters, so apologies if I decide to continue. I still have a few fics sitting on the back burner.
> 
> I can say this, I have never felt more attracted to a pairing like I have Will and Hannibal. I have so much muse for them, they hit all of my creative buttons <3 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Will can feel his heart beat as it escalates into a beautiful crescendo within the delicate confines of his ribs that had become choir stands. The symphony of blood rushing through malleable veins and pulsing throughout his expansive flesh was surely loud enough for Hannibal’s cunning sense of hearing. Will feels no desire to try and mask the maddening sound that trickles up his carotid artery into the soft flesh of his ears and through his ear drum. The liquid lavender honey mixture of sounds is delicate as porcelain, but it shows his change.  
  
Showcases the beauty in which he’d long been seeking yet so far ago abandoned the idea of tracing together the constellations of his desires together again.  
  
Yet despite his abandonment, the utmost crushing sense of weaving through webs and tatters of falsities, the mere amalgamation of suppressing his _needs_ , at the prospect of returning to such dull times, Will feels physically sick.  
  
Will has changed, been molded into this utmost exquisite rendition of his true self, and for once to be able to look into the mirror without craving a different bespoken image, Will has embraced every atom and air of change that will now fall onto him. He knows this is just the beginning of their tale, but it is the starting mark on his Atlas of fate, the beginning rush of power.  
  
Such earth shattering nuances lay not without burdens, he has reservations, though few they may be. But for once, the utmost absurd flock of thorns prickling the edges of his sanity, have been forcibly dulled. By of course none other than the man who begun their orchestra.  
  
Destiny would fate he fill the shoes so bestowed to him by Patroclus.  
  
And Will wanted nothing more than to conquer Troy bearing the name he’d once so revered. He would fill and exceed the carcass of Patroclus, embrace his God assigned role, envelop the ideology and brains of Achilles. Simply in that this was the eventual reality that would be squeezed down from his very birth.  
  
Will’s pulse sped rapidly through his body and settled into the more pleasant areas of his flesh as the idea of Hannibal being his Erastes continued to comb through his flesh. Every nerve ending within touch of Hannibal was singing a symphony of arousal, one in which Will knew Hannibal sensed when the sensation of hitched warm breath spread delicately like butter across his sensitized neck.  
  
The culmination of many years conditioning and submission had submerged Will deeper than imagined.  
  
This rapid decent however clearly the path been laid beneath his feet, was not one to shed his insecurities upon. Rather than wallow through uncertainties, Will’s pride had festered and flourished beautifully from its baby seedling. It aroused Will, to so plainly state his resolve to Bedelia. To finally reveal everything they had worked so hard to cultivate, that was Hannibal’s design.  
  
Will knew very well that he was played beautifully, like a violin freshly strung for a grand orchestra, beautifully polished and gleaming in the manner that Hannibal had so chosen. Will knew that there would always be a piece of doubt in his mind, the puzzle and amalgamation of their time together was fickle at times, yet they grew closer still.  
  
Hannibal knew the squishy inner folds of Will’s empathetic mind, knew the best way to simply bring forth such hidden fantasies, and now with the Red Dragon slain, their rebirth was inevitable. Will had become the finest gossamer to be stitched into their inevitable reign, to bequeath the land in an ocean of thick pulsing blood. An incipient, inevitable beleaguer to their insipid rebirth.  
  
Hannibal’s arms cradle his eromenos closer, cupping the newly kindled teacup over the precipice of a new beginning. To drop or not?  
  
Will wants nothing more than to guard Patroclus, aid him in his inevitable downfall, bed with him, thrust against his red velvet caked skin, huddle against the musk that leaks from the utmost core of his Erastes. Just as Achilles prayed against the midnight cloak of night, reverently declaring such a conscientious duty to drink from the dulcet elixir of Patroclus’ calling, Will would navigate through the labyrinthine Apocrypha as the harbinger of their mellifluous rebirth. He was but one piece of their ever entwined destiny, the moiety of the other’s existence.  
  
Will craves this contact with Hannibal, relinquishes himself to press against the warm oven of Hannibal’s chest. They revel in the sempiternal promises that are unspoken, yet sumptuous, ravishing and divine when put into context. The vestigial manner in which they danced across the fire lit tapestry of their own apocalypse would dissolve into what it was always meant to be.  
  
The panacea to their tension would snap swiftly under the weight of this reckoning. Will would embrace the entirety of their change. Their feelings had merged, vicariously Will felt his own hot breaths as they continued to wreak havoc and ignite every minute cluster of Hannibal’s nerves. Hannibal’s lips where evanescent against Will’s. It was yet the time for them to meet in such a manner.  
  
On a rather pyrrhic propinquity, Will sends them over the literal edge, plunging their ravished skin into the depths of Poseidon’s realm, only to emerge across the looking glass as two phoenixes, doused in petrichor.  
  
~~~  
  
The sunlight dancing across red silk curtains had been the cause of Will’s rousing, rather than the dreams that plagued the innermost depths of his pliant, mushy brain at one weaker, more fragile time of his past. The dreams had long since been infiltrated by thoughts of Hannibal’s coppery liquid drenched across his skin, seeping through his pores and forcing a home in his own veins. After their fall through the river of Archeron, very little of their recovery and consequent assignment of playing God had been opulent. Though there where Avant Gard surroundings in Vienna, Austria.  
  
They lived lavishly, with only the finest material possessions in their wake, thanks to Hannibal’s draw towards higher society. Nothing but the finest of silks would belong spread beneath their skin, nothing but the finest of red silks hung from the diamond crusted ebony rods that formed their king sized princess bed. Their palace was as grand on the outside as inside, with chandeliers decorating the most lavish of their rooms.  
  
Will felt his bare skin slide against the indigo silk sheets and let out a wanton moan of appreciation, he’d recently since abandoned the need to wear clothes to sleep, yet despite such a grand invitation, Hannibal refused to be caught off guard by such an interesting development.  
  
Currently, the dangerous man was tangled inside raven sheets, black duvet just covering half of Hannibal’s torso, indigo contrasted heavily against the faint pink raised skin that had scarred over from Will’s coercion of Mathew Brown. Amongst his first mark there lay many others, across Hannibal’s exposed thigh was a mark that Will left during their recent joint murder of a young woman by the name of Hannah Huber.  
  
They had ripped such ripe flesh apart, dismembered her limbs, sewn them together with silver twine so that they hung about a foot apart from their proper places, they’d hung a black cloth across her eyes after plucking them from her sockets, placed each eye in hands poised to the heavens. She was hung against the stained glass windows of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, dangling above the grand pipe organ. Scales had been attached to her wrists by meat hooks. Lips painted a deep red were parted in such a manner to cradle a preserved butterfly. She’d been disemboweled and cut in a Y shape, as her organs spilled from her stomach, red rose petals had been stitched into her skin covering her nipples and genitals. Her ribs had been snapped with heavy scissors, splayed open like a butterfly, with a surgically removed heart.

  
  
It had been Will’s design, to showcase his resolution, he had never felt as powerful as he had been slicing and ripping into Hannah’s muscles. To watch with such an errant fascination as the fight and submission drained from glassy blue eyes had so physically aroused him, Will had never been more seduced by the idea of ripping Hannibal’s clothes from his skin.  
  
Instead in the throes of heat and simmering ferocity, Will had channeled his arousal and used a large serrated knife, slicing a cross like pattern into Hannibal’s upper thigh. The flesh welcomed his blade. They had struggled for over an hour, testing each other’s strengths, slicing into skin they longed to touch and feel between their teeth. Will’s expressions held the wild glassy look he’d bear after his fever dreams.  
  
Hannibal had, of course, gained an upper hand, his muscles well acquainted with the need to kill or be killed. Will had been pinned to the blood soaked marble floors, as Hannibal fought against the urge to plunge a cleaver into the thick muscles of Will’s neck. Decapitating his beloved had never seemed as appealing as it had in this one moment, the fantasy of Will’s blood spurting uncontrollably across his clothes played on repeat. Hannibal was not keen on such an easy provoked end however, he had leaned closer; close enough to yet again taste his Achilles. Their breaths had mingled, Hannibal’s hands caged Will’s head in as they assumed their rightful position on either side.  
  
Eventually, while breathing in shared air, exhaustion from their kill and the explosive passion for ripping each other to shreds slowly ebbed. Replaced by the utter desperation to consummate their energy in bodily pleasures.  
  
That was the night that Will had abandoned his clothes at night, the very same night that Will had resounded himself, should anything of the sort occur between them, he would not show opposition. Rather as he had laid in their shared bed, stitches agitated by the silken delicacies below his touch, Will nearly prayed to the gods in which work they had ascended. Will was as Bedelia so put it, aching for Hannibal, his touch, his love.  
  
Yet still, as Will laid in his almost perfect Olympia, he felt a longing pull towards Hannibal, many unspoken words bubbled to break the surface rose skin of his lips. On almost every occasion Hannibal would wake before Will, and bed after, yet in the early Venetian sunset they had broken routine.  
  
Not that their actions ever seemed to involve anything but the unorthodox, but still. Will felt the power coursing beneath the tanned muscled skin of his erastes with every light yet purposeful stroke. Will knew very well that should Hannibal ever decide his worth had run its course, he would meet the fate Bedelia marred him to.  
  
The mere waking thought of Hannibal in any vicinity of Bedelia, igniting a ferocious stroke of possessiveness to wreak havoc through Will’s muscles. She had no place in their conquered kingdom of Troy. He has no need for this Helen, harbinger of desuetude, simple pawn and once a part of a brief dalliance with Patroclus. Will constantly felt the physically pulsating need to butcher Bedelia, but he would not, the euphoria and promise of Hannibal finishing such a nuisance held far more power above Will than he would dare admit.  
  
Such destitute and morose thoughts paled, in comparison to the far more attractive inevitability strewn so casually across their twined roads.  
  
It didn’t really matter much now.  
  
No, for now, Will reveled in their time here, Vienna was a wonderful place, filled with friendly people. Hannibal was rather enthralled with the opera houses and musical atmosphere in general. Many of their nights were spent in one of their many lounge rooms, listening to old records spin and spin gracefully in their cradle. On some nights they’d simply read together in the library, white walls glistening auburn under the glow of candles Hannibal would light for them. They sipped whiskey and wine and indulged, basked in the other’s presence.  
  
Much as Will continued to enjoy the feeling of Hannibal’s bare skin beneath the sensitive pads of his own deft fingers. Will traced down Hannibal’s side, caressing the stitched cross of flesh in an almost entranced manner. To think that Hannibal still displayed himself in such a vulnerable state filled Will up with just as much arousal and confusion as the time he had dreamed of decapitating his other half.  
  
The last of Will’s thoughts are chased from the plane of his conscience thought as Hannibal rouses from his sleep, he turns to face Will.  
  
“Good morning…” It’s rather soft and gravely compared to the normal fine wine tone he carries on normal circumstances.  
  
“Hannibal…” Will isn’t sure what he is trying to convey with his words, the cross stitched into Hannibal’s thigh is now out of his reach. Will resists the urge to pout.  
  
But Hannibal must have read enough of Will to understand his meaning, he settles closer to Will and presses him flush against his skin. Will’s breath hitches delicately in his throat, for a dumbing moment.  
  
“Hannibal…” Will tries again, squirming as his naked flesh hit’s Hannibal’s almost nude form (besides a pair of black briefs).  
  
“Today is yet another reckoning, I want to show you the beauty of a new design if you would so let me...” Hannibal mummers, he knows what Will is seeking, wants nothing more than to indulge his eromenos, it’s so close within his reach that it’s absolutely terrifying. Hannibal hasn’t craved anything so whole heatedly than to keep Will entangled so deeply in his ways, that the way out has been permanently sealed shut.  
  
It’s said that no mere mortal shall surface from Hades’ realm.  
  
Before Hannibal can begin to question himself, Will clambers from the bed, letting his own skin bubble with chills, he slips on Hannibal’s red robe and leaves Patroclus on the field of battle.  
  
~~~  
  
It's Christmas time in Rathaus market, the snow blanketing the landscape glitters effervescently pink from the heart shaped lanterns hanging in the trees above their heads. One of Will’s hands is cloaked in the finest of fur gloves, while the other is clasped tightly with Hannibal’s own nude hand.  
  


The pair had chosen the surname Simoneit, Will had chosen the name Lukas, and Hannibal Darius. The two found it easiest to portray being a married couple, they had matching rings that Hannibal had custom hand crafted for both of them.  
  
Of course, Will found the gesture hardly quintessential, unnecessary and rather evocative to their true chemistry.

Will was steadily finding himself falling into the steps he felt Lukas Simoneit would take, he was charismatic with their neighbors, eloquent in his speech at the opera houses, and he’d even learned to properly match wines to their meals. The only true boundary they had yet to cross over as a convincing couple, was to kiss in front of company. Though they had yet to even do so on their glassy surface essences, let alone these guises poised to manipulate and change.  
  
Will tried not to harp on such menial things, they had to watch their cover at all times, for any small slip would send their glass hearts to the concrete in a manner of mere minutes. That, however, did not sequester the two into hiding away in their grand palace. On multiple occasions, they visited friends, shopped together, simply went on dates as a normal couple would. Hannibal had taken up Psychiatry again, while Will simply felt content with staying at home, he picked up Hannibal’s pastime of sketching. They spent many nights simply sketching together in the library sipping whiskey.  
  
It was a nice change of pace to be so thoroughly engrossed in his partner with an excuse, granted it was on false pretenses, but to be able to gawk openly at Hannibal in public without seeming improper, was a luxury Will had grown to appreciate.  
  
There had been a night in which the two had visited Kunsthistorisches Museum, they had perused through with Will asking questions on certain works of art, they had casually dined in at the small café. It was nights such as though that Will craved.

In the time that they had lived in Vienna, to visit the Rathaus market at Christmas had been one of Will’s bucket list items.  
  
True to Hannibal’s promise, they were walking amongst the other families and couples, lightly frosted by the snowflakes fluttering elegantly to the brown earth. Hannibal seldom went back on his word. Will’s cheeks and nose has been dusted a faint rosy color, it was very becoming of Will, and Hannibal would pause slightly to chastise himself.  
  
Learning from the best to be observant, Will knew Hannibal was purposefully avoiding eye contact. It was dampening his ebullient mood.  
  
It was on this particular night that things had begun to shift once again. Their ever-changing path forked violently and swiftly.  
  
Will had been nursing a warm cup of mélange when Hannibal had suddenly crowded him against one of the buildings. Hannibal’s breathing was even, yet his hands shook as he braced himself on either side of Will, they locked gazes, and Will had mostly succeeded in not spilling his coffee on his trench coat. Hannibal slides a hand from the historic brick wall to grasp Will’s cup and place it down in the snow, he then leaned close, breath tickling Will’s sensitive ear lobes.  
  
“Will… I need you to listen very carefully to me…” Hannibal started, his voice smooth as stone despite the underlying urgent-ness his voice held. “There is an FBI agent across the field, most likely scrounging around after Mrs. Huber’s tragic departure… Don’t you think some elements of her case remarkably bear similarities to those artistic pieces from the Chesapeake Ripper?” There is a lilt to Hannibal’s voice that Will has to physically swallow the urge to laugh aloud.  
  
“Imagine if they knew there was a former special agent gallivanting around with the man who used to drop bodies as love letters. Imagine their thoughts when they glanced upon her flesh hanging in every which way… What they thought when her serrated neck was examined and revealed to have bruises… What do you think they thought Hannibal? Do you think they singularly saw this ripper whom they’d been so convinced was head over heels for me?” Will leans closer into his erastes, resting his once wounded cheek against Hannibal’s broad, welcoming warmth.  
  
“Do you honestly think they don’t know how intermingled we are? Do you think there is ever a moment in any day I spend with you that I don’t find myself wondering where you begin and I end? Hannibal, surely I don’t need to voice all of this. You know what I would have seen looking through the other side?” Will very slightly disengages himself, enough to cup the side of Hannibal’s cheek and gaze into his glowing amber liquid pools.  
  
“I would have seen the consummation of the inventible bond between two killers. Betwixt the gore, the beauty, I would have caught the subtle hints, the passion placed into every intricacy at that scene. But of course, Jack is a simple man. He would have seen a piece of me reaching my precise conclusion. He would have seen the exact moment in which I chose to run away with you, chose to be so harshly twisted up into your world… He would have seen the absolute rush of power that raced down my spine when the idea of the FBI finding such an intimate scene… The only thing missing was our bodily fluids.” Will’s sentence tappers off as he leans a breadth’s width from Hannibal’s lips. Hannibal stills at the direct words that melt through every pore in his being.  
  
“If you don’t want that agent to suspect something, Darius, I would eviscerate this tension… Take the plunge… Claim your Achilles that you’d so craved for the three years they’d so cruelly kept you…”  
  
And he does, Hannibal listens to every word that spills from Will’s plush, ravishing lips, and claims Will’s breath as his own.  
  
Their lips meet in a flurry of passion, Will’s lips part with a wanton whine, it’s much too little for the patience he’d overcome to reach this point. Hannibal’s breath hitches in a manner Will had only heard once before, and that had been right before being nearly disemboweled himself.  
  
It was as if every spark and pop of endorphins pooling thickly through Will had surfaced from the very start of their delicate game. Will welcomed it, every pull and push of slick lips against his own caused his desire to increase tenfold. Hannibal was addicting, a toxic whirlwind force that demanded attention, a primal beast of a man with such a deep seated wickedness brewing beneath his human flesh.  
  
Troy would be burnt to cinders before Will would allow his incarceration again.  
  
Their lips parted with bated breaths, and Will felt the flames and lust of Aphrodite inflate his very muscles with pliant child bearing endorphins. Every molecule, nerve within his flesh screamed for Hannibal, and with a hard swallow, Will traced the seam of Hannibal’s lips in a teasing manner.  
  
Will would take everything from Hannibal.  
  
Troy would beg divine intervention and kneel down before the fallen gods as they rained terror against the wake of their feet.

**Author's Note:**

> *Curtain draws closed* One more chapter and then this figment of my mind can finally be put to rest. I've put a lot of love and research into this so I hope you all enjoyed, and are excited about the next part. I wanted these pictures to aid my imagery and make you feel like this was an episode of the show <3
> 
> (Also you should totally check out this link, this is the home Will and Hannibal live in, in Vienna: http://www.christiesrealestate.com/eng/sales/detail/170-l-82195-1604010626441364/neo-classical-palace-dobling-vi-1190)


End file.
